Dangerous Territory
by BlackPuma137
Summary: Arthur and Ariadne have been enchanted by dreams. And though they may have promised themselves to reality, it may just become too addicting to pass up. Needle marks are mostly left by drugs, after all. A/A, after Inception.
1. Chapter 1

**Dangerous Territory**

**Chapter 1**

Araidne first noticed it when trying to retrieve her winter coat. Far to lazy to reorganize her hall closet and wardrobe for the sake of interchanging her seasonal items, she was content, instead, to reach into the hall closet with a cautious hand, grope around for the thing, and yank it out. (She didn't have enough faith to assure her that if she opened the door, she wouldn't be met with an avalanche of clothes and whatever else she had stuffed in there over the course of her college years). It was a reasonable enough quest, after all. She was quite sure she could fit another coat into her wardrobe before driving Arthur absolutely crazy, and she knew that if she had to go through the rest of the year in Paris, she would most definitely need it.

After she successfully finagled it out of the closet with a cry of triumph, though, she had the misfortune of looking around the place. And while she loved her place, and while she loved that she and Arthur had decided to stay there even after she finished her last semester at the college (though they certainly had the money to go anywhere else; or even get a bigger place), she had to cringe at the misorder of it. It was a rare day when she or Arthur _didn't_ bruise themselves in walking around the place—not that there was much room for that.

Sure, she wasn't likely to change her style or become much cleaner, but quite honestly, the place was crammed to the brim. She couldn't do much about their collection of books that were haphazardly stacked everywhere—she could never get rid of _those—_or even their collection of CD's and vinyls that dominated the floor-to-ceiling shelves that claimed almost all the wall space in the apartment; she couldn't even do much about the artwork Arthur insisted on (which he didn't have to insist upon, necessarily), but the other things? Her old projects she didn't really want to get rid of, but perhaps she could store them in the hall closet. After all, the closet only had a few seasonal clothes in it.

_Surely there can't be too many things in there,_ she thought. _I'll just have to rifle through it and reorganize it a bit. Maybe get a new chest of drawers in the bedroom if I can't get rid of any the clothes; there's enough room in there. But I definitely need to go through this apartment and get rid of all this unnecessary _stuff.

Sighing, she tossed her jacket onto the living room couch across from her, went into her room—even though it was just the door to the left, literally two paces away, she managed to stub her two on a stack of books and slam her hip on the bathroom door on the opposite side—to pull on a more suitable working shirt, and wandered back with a determined sigh. Grimacing, she pulled open the door and leapt aside, closing her eyes in anticipation of the rush of things that would come out. She was relieved to hear nothing of the sort, and was astounded, when she opened her eyes, to see a collection of hung, heavy winter jackets and neatly folded hats and mittens—both hers and Arthur's. _Perhaps Arthur cleaned it up like the rest of the apartment when he moved in? _She wondered. _But when had he done that? _

Shrugging, she was about to retrieve her projects she wanted to keep and put them on the unoccupied bottom and top drawers, when she noticed a sliver glint in the corner of her eye. She turned back toward the closet, and narrowed her eyes at the source of the glint. There, in the corner, stood a silver briefcase. Most definitely Arthur's PASIV.

_What the hell? He _told_ me he gave it Cobb. We both decided to stay off the damn thing—hell, we haven't even been doing extractions anymore! We _both _promised not to! _

Arthur wasn't doing extractions anymore—she was sure of that. He was working steadily now, she knew. She would have noticed a difference in him; this too, she was sure of. If he was working at dreams, she would have noticed a different aura around him—his more pragmatic, working, cold-hearted side of him. And he wasn't like that anymore; he wasn't as uptight and stiff as he once was. Of course, she hadn't changed his personality completely and wouldn't be with him if he had changed much, but she knew she had brought out his more sensitive, emotional side. Hell, he wouldn't be going to Friday night outs with Eames, Cobb, Yusuf, and her if he was the same on-the-job Arthur that she had worked with during Inception.

No, she suspected that the suitcase was still here because of something that was more dangerous than just extractions. More addicting.

This was about dreams. More specifically, a lack of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Author's Note: This is becoming a bit darker than I meant, but I kind of like it this way. After all, if I were Ariadne, I would become seriously depressed if I couldn't dream. Besides, I like the idea of a darker things between Arthur and Ariandne._

It was like it had eyes, constantly staring at her. She felt that creepy sensation of something watching—whether she was in the living room, trying to continue with her given mission of cleaning the place up without shaking to much, or whether she was in the bathroom, kitchen, or even bedroom wardrobe.

It was biting at her, gnawing at her resolve: she felt like an alcoholic placed in a room that had been aired with the scent of the finest whiskey—the whiskey a hands-breath away. It had taken so much of her resolve to get away from the thing after the Inception, to resist the want to under and retrieve the ability to dream the easy way out, but now it was tantalizingly in reach.

And she felt betrayed. How could Arthur keep it from her? Lie to her? Did he know how much it hurt to not dream every night? How awful it was to only dream once a week, merely experiencing blackness every time she actually managed to sleep? How hard it was to go back to sleep after the Inception? He was the one that had told her, after all. He was the first to come back after the two weeks that held them apart (safety reasons, she was assured), the first to tell her that she had to sleep normally. The first to tell her that she couldn't just use the PASIV whenever she felt the need.

The worst thing was, he _knew_ exactly how hard it had been for her. Not only through his own, daily experiences, but through hers as well. Though he insisted that they must stay away from each other for two weeks, he was physically there for half the time, after all. She cried trying to fall asleep, desperately hoping against hope that tonight would be the night. She cried upon waking from the intense disappointment of not having dreamed for yet another night. He had seen the effects of the first two weeks, even—and those had been the worst. When she found out she couldn't dream anymore, after two nights of horrendous blackness, she had decided to stay awake for virtually the entire time in her hotel. She emerged from those two weeks drugged up on coffee, chocolate, and (though she hated it) energy drinks ,with only about 48 hours of sleep (caught in periods of two hour naps when she couldn't help it anymore). When she had drifted into her apartment, relieved at last to be freed from her LA hotel, she was astounded to see Arthur, but even more so when she had looked in the mirror. She saw there what she had become—a ghost. A pale, morose ghost with ghastly bags under her eyes and a disheveled appearance that took two days to wear off.

She was drained emotionally for about three months. They wouldn't even be together today, a semester later, if Arthur hadn't helped her; though he went through the same trouble. She doubted she would be here at all if it wasn't for him—it was just so addicting, the urge to dream without abandon. She didn't doubt it all: if he hadn't been there for her, helped break her habit, she would be like those in Mombasa, the ones Yusuf had told her about. She would be there for the rest of her life, hooked up to a box, dreaming her life away.

She remembered thinking about how unfair it was. Most people who were in the dreaming business weren't affected like this. Most people went through a minimal redrawal after the first job, then hardened themselves to it and went back to business like normal. Like Arthur. Most people only had to deal with the serious repercussions—the need to dream a certain amount of time each day—by the time they were in their late 50's or early 60's. By the time they could deal with it.

But even though she was as strong as she was, even though she had only been doing this for a minimal amount of time, even though she should have had time to adjust, even though she would have quit and been free of the cycle...she had gone to Limbo. And that's where the trouble really was. That's why it had become so addicting to her, though she hadn't been doing it as long as Arthur. But still she faced the same level of intoxication as Arthur did.

She thought he was protecting her when he didn't let her dream on the PASIV anymore. He even told her he was protecting her. It seemed she had thought wrong. Arthur had chosen to hid the PASIV from her. He had chosen to lie to her about giving it to Cobb. And whether he used or not didn't matter—dreaming had meant so much to her, and he knew it. _Je ne regrette rien, my arse,_ thought Ariadne as, dropping a stack of former projects, she marched to the closet, grabbed the suitcase, settled herself on the couch, and began attaching the familiar IV to her arm. _I don't care if I'm acting like a child, or even like an addict. Every person deserves dreams. And Arthur can't very well keep them away from me!_ _I very well will regret it if I don't take this chance to hook up before I bitch to Arthur about it; before he starts to "protect me" again. Fat lot of good it did me, his "protecting". _

She was smiling when she went under.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Arthur knew he was screwed the minute he came home to find Ariadne on the couch, the PASIV resting in her lap.

He sighed, closes his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. If only he had gotten rid of the thing.

He didn't quite know how to explain this to Ari. How could he? He was the one to persuade her not to use it, not to get caught up in it's spell. But he was the one that had sneaked the dreams like a hypocrite. Late at night, when he felt too desperate and lost. When he _needed_ to dream.

He sighed again. Many people were oblivious when it came to dreams. They didn't realize how imperative it was to a person's well being. Even just physically: those who don't dream often are more depressed, agitated, sensitive...even despondent. Most people have problems with memory loss, obesity, and lack of concentration if they don't dream.

But that was just the physical, statistical side to it. Arthur knew the true disasters: no creativity. No hope. A weight inside your heart that drags you down into a unbelievable despair that you can only get out of if you have great luck, and someone by your side.

Oh yes. Arthur knew the side effects well enough.

He opened his eyes. And even though he knew that he shouldn't, he wished that he could have given this to Ariadne far earlier. She looked so peaceful, so _content._..he wanted to give this happiness to her all the time. But the price for that was too heavy for Arthur—for them—to pay. Even if he was beyond hope, even if he could no longer function without it, Ariadne had to. He couldn't let her get sucked away in the vortex of dreams; he couldn't let her become that addicted to it.

He was beyond hope, but she wasn't. And there was no way in hell that would let her become that way.

As he began to insert the IV into his arm, he had to grimace. It was always a feeling of shame and disappointment that accompanied the glee as he went into a dream, and it was even more sad when he realized that he felt that way. _Dreams shouldn't come along with those things,_ he thought, as he added time on the meter and began to sink into blissful oblivion. _Dreams should be more beautiful than that. They shouldn't be dangerous territory. They should be more like Ariadne: edgy, free, beautiful...glorious._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Ariadne knew the minute that Arthur entered the dream. Ariadne also knew that there was no way in hell that he was going to spoil this for her. So, arms crossed, she continued onto the paradoxical rollercoaster in the amusement park she had conjured up, and gladly settled into the seat offered to her by a projection.

And though she was nearly sick by the time she stumbled out of the exit, she haughtily crossed her arms and almost turned up her nose at him.

"Arthur...fancy seeing you here." She didn't bother going any closer than two feet away from him, and her body language made it clear that he shouldn't try to get any closer.

Arthur smirked. "Yes...strange, indeed. I like the roller coaster you've made here. The Pentrose steps, in a backwards roller coaster? Nice touch." Ariadne saw him finger the dice that he carried in his pocket, and couldn't stop her hand from fingering hers, in her back pocket. "Habit, isn't it?" Arthur said casually, nodding towards her arm.

Ariadne glared. "Yeah, it is. Even after all these months of no dreams."

She couldn't bear to look at his eyes anymore. His eyes were screaming for forgiveness, pleading with her. But she couldn't acquiesce. Not this time.

Not after all he did to her.

"Yes, even after all these dreams..." said Arthur softly. He settled on waiting for her to strike.

He didn't have to wait long.

"How could you do this to me?" yelled Ariadne, unable to contain her hurt anymore. "How could you? You know how much it was hurting me, how long it took me to get back to normal!"

The plea in his eyes became stronger. "Yes, and that's precisely why I did it. Because you can get back to normal. I was-"

"Trying to protect me, I know. But I'm not a child, Arthur! You can't just _force_ someone to give up dreams just because you're operating under farcical notions of-"

Arthur couldn't prevent himself from yelling anymore. "Notions? Notions? You think this is because of some idea that I have of myself? Some egotistical-"

"Well it better be that, Arthur, because there's nothing else that could-"

"You have no idea, Ariadne! You have no idea of what could-"

"What could happen? I know very well what could happen, and even if I didn't, you have no right to hide something like this from me just so you can go off and have dreams in secret!"

"This is so much bigger than that, Araidne, and you damn well better believe it!" Ariadne, stunned at Arthur's irate yell, suddenly fell silent—as did the rest of their world. No longer did the joyful music blast from speakers, no longer did the rides ferry gleeful children and adults, no longer did projections merrily buy cotton candy from vendors. No, the only people, the only sounds that left in the park were the silent Ariadne and Arthur, glaring at each other.

"Ariadne, I didn't tell you this before because I didn't want to scare you. I told you I was just about as far along as I was in my dreams as you were, but the truth is, I don't dream at all anymore. I've dreamt about twice in eight years. I knew that if I had told you that, you would have viewed me entirely differently. You would have never done another extraction. I didn't know until about three weeks until after the inception that you were sure of never doing another, and I didn't want to sway you in any way just because _I _couldn't," began Arthur quietly.

"No, let me finish," he interrupted, as Ariadne tried to cut in. "I didn't mind not having to dream much during those years. You know me when I have a job to do: I'm the famed Point Man," he said sarcastically. "No emotions, just facts. Nothing to do with emotions. I was getting along well with just an extra five minutes on the PASIV.

"But then you came along, Ariadne. And I started to _want_ to dream again. I didn't before, but then I dreaded having blackness every night of my life. You never noticed it, because mostly you weren't at the warehouse late, but almost every other night I was logging in at least 12 hours of time in the PASIV. I was getting close to those men in Mombasa, the ones who need to dream every night or get withdrawal symptoms. After the inception, I promised myself never to do another job in the dream world, as you know. But I knew that I would have to take the PASIV with me, that I would have to start dreaming regularly on it. I thought maybe you could, too—after all, I knew how hard it was to stay away.

"When I saw you at your apartment, though, I knew I couldn't. You were already too addicted; if you started again, I knew you wouldn't stop. You would end up just like the men in Mombasa. I couldn't let that happen to you. I couldn't let you become so dependent. For that I loved you too much. So I tried to stop you. I gave you all of me, so that you could start having normal nights. And you have—you're having one or two dreams a week now, I know that, and soon, within a month maybe, you'll have three or fourth. In another half year, it'll be like you've never been in a shared dream—with the exception of one or two nights, you'll be having regular dreams.

"It's too late for me, Ariadne. I know that's a sorry excuse for the betrayal I've put you through, for the lie and the hardship I've made you go through, but it's true."

Ariadne was quiet for a long time, looking down at the ground, at the totem in her hand—anything but Arthur's pleading eyes. Even though she wanted to stay angry, she couldn't. Not after what he had just told her.

"But we could have dreamt together, this whole time. We could have glorious dreams like this, every night of our lives. We could spend a million lifetimes together-" she started softly.

Arthur was shaking his head. "That was what Mal thought, too. But it doesn't work that way. Relationships aren't meant to be built on dreams. You've seen what happens to those relationships: they began to crumble, just like Mal and Cobb's did. You had to learn how to dream again, Ariadne, because you needed to, and because you could."

"But so do you Arthur! I can't have you become a vegetable, having to be put under for I don't know how many hours, just so you can function like a normal human being!"

Arthur sighed. "It's too late for me, darling. It's too late-"

"No, it's not! If I can relearn how to dream, then so can you!"

"It's not that simple-"

"Yes, it is Arthur. We could make it work. I could help you through it, just like you did with me. You could learn how to dream again-"

"Ariadne, darling, as much as I love you, you can't commit yourself like that. You can't spend so much effort on me. Think of school, of-"

But Ariadne didn't want to listen to it anymore. She didn't want to hear Arthur commit himself, didn't want to listen to his suicide note. No, with two quick strides, she closed the space between them and kissed him, long and hard.

"I _want_ to take care of you, Arthur. I want you to dream again. I don't want to see you become an addict yourself," she whispered, not bothering to let her arms uncross from behind his neck.

"But you've never have to make the choice."

"I'm making the decision now."

Arthur was shaking his head as she stepped away, but she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, then conjured up the item that she wanted. Very calmly, as if merely handling a small animal, she cocked the Glock 77 and then pressed it against her forehead.

She barely heard Arthur shout "NO!" before a calming darkness claimed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Ariadne woke with a jolt, but she knew that she couldn't waste any time if she meant to outrun Arthur. She yanked out the IV hooking her up to the PASIV, then jumped up and began to rush for her shoes and her jacket. She was just returning to the couch when Arthur woke up. He, too, yanked out his IV, and began to question her, but she simply grabbed the PASIV, disregarding the loose string, and ran out the door, down the stairs to the exit of her dingy apartment building, and out into the Parisian streets.

She ran as fast she can, harder than she had ever in her life, but before she had even finished the street she heard Arthur chasing after her—fine Italian shoes resounding on cobblestone, yells attracting attention from the bewildered passerby. She kept running, though—as fast as she could, to her favorite park across the street.

* * *

After nearly being run over twice, harassed by several old ladies four times, and feeling like he had to cough up a lung, Arthur finally caught up with Ariadne.

She was standing on the edge of the Seine in her favorite park, gazing into it's enormous depths, when he caught up to her.

"What...exactly...are...you doing...here?" gasped Arthur, still breathless from the run.

Ariadne, panting, looked over at him. "Fixing you," she replied.

"Ari, I don't know if-"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I know," she whispered, "and that's all you, or I, need to know."

She kissed him gently, then turned toward the gushing river, pulled the arm that held the PASIV back, and flung it into the Seine.

She turned back to Arthur. "I love you, and we're going to make it through this. I'm going to help you dream again, because we both can't handle the sight of each other dependent on this PASIV thing. For that I'm infinitely grateful."

Arthur smiled softly. "Je t'aime aussi, mon Ariadne."

Ariadne leaned toward him, kissed him again, and whispered in his ear: "Non! Je ne regrette rien. Car ma vie, car mes joies. Aujourd'hui ça commence avec toi!"

* * *

Ariadne began to have regular dreams in about half a year. Arthur began to have them in about one and a half. Their totems began to leave their totems by their beside tables.

They only ever touched a PASIV for special occasions; for the occasional, irresistible job. They didn't like it half as much as dreaming in their crammed, untidy apartment, curled up in bed with one another.

_I regret nothing  
Neither the good that I've done nor the bad  
All this is much the same to me!_

_No! Absolutely nothing...  
No! I regret nothing...  
It is paid, swept away, forgotten  
I don't care about the past!_

_With my souvenirs  
I lit a fire  
My sorrows, my pleasures  
I need them no more!_

_No! Absolutely nothing...  
No! I regret nothing...  
Because my life, because my joys  
Today that begins with you! _

_Author's Note: the End! I hope you enjoyed it and leave a review. The lyrics don't belong to me, but are instead sung beautifully by Edith Paif. I found this song, despite being awesome and incorporated fantastically into the movie Inception, describes not only Mol and Domm, but Arthur and Ariadne; at least here. _

_Hopefully this and the last chapter made sense to you; it made sense in my head but I hope I didn't rush through it. Please leave a review and tell me what you think! _

_FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:  
"Je t'aime aussi, mon Ariadne"-I love you too, my Araidne_

"_Non! Je ne regrette rien. __Car ma vie, car mes joies. Aujourd'hui ça commence avec toi!-No, I don't regret anything. Because my life, because my joys, begin today with you!_


End file.
